


Running, Staying

by Verabird



Category: Les Misérables (Movie 1952), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Slavery, Hurt/Comfort, Kneeling, M/M, Sad Ending, Toulon Era, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-17
Updated: 2018-02-17
Packaged: 2019-03-11 07:05:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13519044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Verabird/pseuds/Verabird
Summary: Convicts that outstay their welcome in Toulon are sold to households throughout France. Gentlemen, farmers, sadists, there's always someone willing to buy a slave and put them to work.But Valjean knows he will always belong to just one man.Or maybe two.





	Running, Staying

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ellamason](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellamason/gifts).



The first woman he’s sent to is kind. This is unusual because Valjean has been taught not to expect kindness from anyone, least of all from one of his owners, so he doesn’t know that this is out of the ordinary. He doesn’t understand that his friends in the galleys would give anything to be sent to a kind household like Mme Elizabeth’s, that he should appreciate this anomaly for all it’s worth, and under no circumstances should he try to escape because he doesn’t know it can get so much worse. Oh it can get so much worse.

“Just stand there dear, that’s a good boy.”

Mme Elizabeth is short-sighted and frail and she filed her application for a slave using incorrect paperwork by mistake. The government sent her a slave trained in the art of pleasure, but she just wants a handsome young man to fetch and carry the things she can’t see. Valjean resents it all. Despite her kindness, Valjean considers incapacitating his old owner long enough to run. The estate is atop a round hill surrounded by dense forest and Valjean knows that within a day he could be lost in the heavy undergrowth, damn the collar and chain, and he’d be free. He thinks of freedom during all his waking hours, and it occupies his dreams too. Mme Elizabeth has placed a tray in his hands, silver, shining, worth more than his entire convict wages. She tells him to stand by the door and offer glasses to her guests, and for the rest of the evening Valjean dutifully performs this task, he behaves well, he is polite, but he never smiles. His eyes are cast down the way he has been taught in the training centres of Toulon. He can still feel Javert’s cane against his face, maneuvering him into the correct position. He winces involuntarily.

“A fine specimen you’ve picked up Madame.”

Valjean feels his cheeks flushing. He can’t help it, the way his owner’s guests speak about him is unmanageable, he wants to talk back, perhaps spit on them. But he doesn’t dare. He stares at the floor, at the brightly coloured carpet, the red threads sliding into royal blue. He bites his tongue.

“He can’t have been cheap.”

“They aren’t these days, not since they started taking all that time training them.”

“It’s unnecessary.”

“Indeed!”

“Takes away all the fun, some of us want to break them in ourselves.”

Valjean has zoned out, he doesn’t want to pay attention, but suddenly there is a well-dressed man before him, Valjean can see the shine of his shoes and the rich velvet of his frock coat fall into his vision. The man grasps his jaw between tight fingers with a sudden movement. He grips tighter still, turns Valjean’s face this way and that, inspecting him.

“Open up,” The man says. He sounds amused, like he does this all the time, plays with slaves for fun. Valjean slowly parts his lips, but just a little. The man forces his fingers into Valjean’s mouth, pokes them into his cheeks, inspects his teeth like he might examine a horse he wants to put a wager on. Valjean’s cheeks are burning hot, he can’t turn his face away, the taste of the man’s fingers in his mouth makes him want to vomit, he can’t swallow properly, it’s sickening. He bites down hard.

* * *

 

The next owner they send him to knows exactly why he’s purchased Valjean. There’s been no mix up here as Valjean finds himself on his knees, scraping against the hot friction of varnished floorboards, his face caught by strong fingers. His eyes are watering and they’re closed, he doesn’t wish to see the vulgar act he’s being forced to perform. He feels the prick in his mouth, hot and heavy, it tastes vile, Valjean swallows the urge to be sick. This new man is violent and reactionary. He beats Valjean. He isn’t thrifty with the cane or the lash, and Valjean has tasted the weight of the man’s palm on many occasion too. Valjean doesn’t dare bite down this time, he’s been taught not to. When they sent him back to the academy in Toulon they were disappointed, they told him so many times, then they set to work retraining him and teaching him not to use his teeth when he shouldn’t.

“You’re lucky we’re not pulling out all your teeth one by one.”

Valjean nods in agreement. He is kneeling, as he usually is, hands clasped demurely before him, head bowed, whilst a guard taunts him and teaches him the fine art of not using teeth. He knows this guard, he’s known him a long time.

Back on the floor of the wealthy man who has bought him for a specific use the fingers on his cheeks press tighter and leave red marks. After an aching age the man pulls back and comes on his face, then he leaves without so much as a word. Valjean knows he’ll be back before the day is out, he won’t be satisfied. He forces Valjean to take him in his mouth several times a day and it’s only just gone noon. Valjean falls back onto the wooden boards and wipes a hand across his face. He’s tempted to use one of the curtains to wipe himself down, but he doesn’t. He composes himself and makes his way back to the slave quarters hidden behind a panel in the drawing room. Valjean hasn’t made friends with the other slaves, and they don’t want to be friends with him. They suffer the same fate, but they suffer it in silence.

That afternoon Valjean has the outfit of the manor’s gardener, ill fitting on his tall frame, but he prays for forgiveness as he darts across the fields with the speed of a chased poacher. He makes it to the village, thinks he might be able to seek sanctuary in the church, but he’s spotted before he reaches the gates. He is set upon by what feels like a hundred men, holding him down, restraining him with more chains and more ropes, and then he is dragged back to Toulon in shame.

* * *

 

Javert spits at his feet.

“You are too good for this life I see.”

Valjean shakes his head. Javert catches him with a swift and strong backhand across the face.

“You are, you are indeed Valjean. I see it in your defiant eyes. Those eyes that have stared at my back and longed to rip out my throat with those sharp convict teeth.”

Valjean shakes his head. “I do not wish you harm,” He says softly. Javert laughs and the sound makes Valjean wince.

He is kneeling again, his feet turned upwards and for good reason. They are sore, sting like hell, they whipped them bloody to remind him of the pain that running causes. He thinks back to Mme Elizabeth and curses himself for ever disobeying. Javert slaps him again.

“You are not paying attention.”

He opens his mouth to speak, but everything collapses in, the world, Javert, his own thoughts, they crash over him until he is left in a painful swirling oblivion. There is hardness on his side, a coldness on his cheek, a dull aching pain on the whipped soles of his feet, but something else too, something soft and cool and soothing.

“There now Jean, don’t try to move.”

Valjean tries to move, tries to protest, but those soothing cold hands are on his shoulders and they’re pushing him down, down and down, back into the painful abyss. He struggles against it, but he is too weak, the stinging is too strong.

It must be hours later, perhaps days. Valjean’s head is resting in Genflou’s lap and he winces every time Genflou’s thumb brushes against his cheek. His cheeks are red and sore from where Javert has slapped him too many times. Valjean shakes his head. “I should have listened.”

“Shhh, Jean, you shouldn’t have to listen to anyone, least of all a man who says he owns you.”

Does Javert own him? Javert is part of the system that owns him, perhaps that is ownership enough. Valjean is confused, perhaps Genflou means the man who pinched at his cheeks and made his eyes water. Valjean wishes he could be owned by Genflou. Life would be simpler then.

* * *

 

Valjean can’t help but smile as he’s led away from the auction house, his chain in the hand of a man who looks kind. He has dark hair sprinkled with grey and kind eyes, and he smiled at Valjean until Valjean smiled meekly back. Valjean senses, or maybe he just dares to dream, that this man will treat him kindly. But Valjean is naive, despite the beatings and the training at the end of Javert’s sharp cane, he has begun to hope and life will now teach him that hope is futile.

The man who Valjean once saw as kind is not kind. He has many friends and he holds what can only be described as functions which Valjean is forced to attend. Cards and money change hands over a green felt table and Valjean changes hands underneath. He is pushed and pulled between gentlemen who are decorated in the softness of satin and velvet but Valjean finds that their knuckles are hard and their words harsher. His eyes water, his throat is sore, he cannot speak for hoarsness, and yet he is still passed between them. The carpet burns his knees, he has brief reprieves in which to breathe, but soon his mouth is full again.

Monsieur De Bleu has a savage temper. He swings between smiling at Valjean, caressing his hair, his cheeks, his throat, to choking him until Valjean dares to hope that he won’t stop. It is painful and it is relentless. Valjean allows himself to endure a month of torment before he bares his teeth and bites. He knows the punishment will be terrible, and he knows that Toulon will be cruel, but Genflou will be there and Genflou will comfort him.

* * *

 

“You are base, you are an animal, you ought to be put down.”

Valjean nods and bites his lip. Javert has been free with his cane and Valjean has winced and gritted his teeth but shown no more than that. He can see that Javert enjoys it, it’s almost as if he wishes for Valjean to rebel and be returned to Toulon.

“Do you know what happens when you’ve outlived your usefulness?” He doesn’t wait for Valjean to reply. “You become worthless. No one wants to buy an unruly animal that can’t behave, you’ll be handed to the guards to play with for rest and recreation. Then you will taste my lash more than you ever have before. Is that what you want? To be delivered to me?”

Valjean has noticed something about Javert. The other guards hold him at the end of their canes, they beat him with sticks and rods and restrain him with chains. Javert is different. Javert uses his hands. He likes to grab Valjean by the jaw and inspect him like a racing horse, he likes to slap him with a bare palm, he’ll wrench him back with a fist in his hair, and he’ll bind him with rope to keep him at bay. Javert appreciates the touch of flesh on flesh, or perhaps it is just Valjean’s privilege.

“Would you like to be worthless, Valjean?”

Valjean shakes his head. He closes his eyes and breathes carefully, he sees Genflou’s face, he focuses on those calming dark eyes, thinks of those cool hands. He can bare this, he can just about bare it.

Genflou embraces him when he sees him, and it’s long and desperate. Valjean can’t help it, he starts to cry, and the cries turn into sobs, and then Genflou is stroking his back and soothing him and stroking his hair and it becomes too much and Valjean thinks he might sink into Genflou and dissolve. He doesn’t, and the next morning he is sold again.

* * *

 

He is put to work in a field by the farmer who has purchased him. It is back breaking thankless work and Valjean sweats until he feels he will dry up in the sun like an unwatered flower. The farmer feeds his slaves twice, once at the start of the day, and once at the end. It is not enough and Valjean witnesses several of his companions collapse and never return to the field. They are simply replaced with new slaves and the farmer comes to laugh at them, chews seeds and spits them onto the soil, and he heartily tells them that they cost him less than a week’s food. As long as a slave is useful for a single week then the farmer is justified in barely feeding them. They are given bread and water as the dawn rises and bread and cheese as the sun sets. Valjean steals food from the horse’s trough and hides his tears as he hungrily eats food meant for beasts. He eats the stalks of vegetables that are cast into the dirt. The farmer catches him at this one day and beats him mercilessly in front of the other workers. Valjean collapses to the floor and finds he isn’t strong enough to get up again. The farmer kicks him in the ribs until Valjean feels a sickening crack. He falls further into the ground, and again he senses the overwhelming blackness of the world crashing over him. Aching and stinging, his lungs have started to burn, his throat is too dry to scream, he hears the farmer shouting at him but there is nothing he can do. He wonders if he has already fainted and this is all but a fever dream, perhaps he has already died. Valjean hopes they won’t tell Genflou what happened to him. He hopes Genflou will imagine him escaping, running free into the sun, and Genflou will do the same. Valjean can still hear the farmer, he’s screaming something, something about Valjean smiling, something about smiling not being allowed, but Valjean doesn’t care, he’s thinking of Genflou instead and it’s a fine thought to die to.

* * *

 

“Useless, worthless, useless.”

Javert isn’t hitting him. Javert hasn’t hit him at all since Valjean was carted back to Toulon. It’s probably against regulations to damage merchandise too heavily and Valjean’s broken rib still hasn’t healed. At least they feed him in Toulon, more than twice a day and more than just stale bread and moldy cheese. He almost cried as water was poured on his lips, metallic dirty water, but by God he could have swallowed a sea’s worth of the stuff.

“Genflou…” Valjean says weakly, perhaps he still has a fever, it’s not unlikely. “Please.”

“What’s wrong with you? Have you become simple?” Javert’s hand is in his hair, his hand is forming a fist, it yanks his neck backwards and forces Valjean to face him. “But no, you think you can play the fool and get off easy eh? That’s it, isn’t it?”

Valjean wants to shake his head but Javert’s grip is vice-like. His eyes are watering again. He’s become used to having wet cheeks and red eyes. Javert releases his hair, talks to him some more, calls Valjean names, tells Valjean he is worth nothing, he is cheap and dirty and no one wants him, he’ll be given to the guards, he’ll be handed over to Javert. “I’d be a good guardian for you Valjean, wouldn’t I? Yes, I’d guide you to the right path, perhaps fate will give you to me.”

Valjean says nothing, he wants to be chained back into place next to Genflou, he wants Genflou to hold him and wipe away his tears and stroke his hair and tell him everything will be alright. Genflou has described their future together many times, it’s a vivid picture that Valjean clings to, but he relishes Genflou’s quiet whispering of it.

It is hours later, Javert can talk as if his life depended on it, but finally he is brought to be chained. His eyes are closed, one of them is almost swollen shut, he has a black eye, there are bruises on his cheeks and neck, Genflou will be so worried about him. He can’t wait for Genflou’s soft kisses on his bruises.

“Valjean.”

The voice is kind enough, slightly rough and low, but it is not the right voice. Valjean looks up. He sees Martine. Martine is strong and heavyset and is unwanted as a slave, he is supposed to be chained on the other side of Genflou. “You always fly back home,” Martine says. Again, his voice is not unkind, but it might as well be and Valjean wants to cry again.

“Where is Genflou?” He tries not to sound desperate, but he is terrified. Perhaps Genflou has died and they have thrown him to the sea.

Martine smiles gently. “Have you not heard? He escaped Valjean, he escaped.”

“Escaped?” The word is soft on his lips.

“Yes, he got free, they say he went to find you.”

“Escaped,” Valjean whispers again.

“Don’t worry Valjean, I will keep you warm tonight.”

And Valjean lets him.

* * *

 

“No one will buy you.” Javert’s voice is harsh and snide, a carrying whisper across the auction house. Valjean tries not to look too keen as prospective buyers flash past. A few give him a cursory glance, but nothing more. He considers begging someone to buy him, considers getting to his knees and showing what he can do. It will be easier to escape from an unguarded home than it will be to free himself of the bagne’s chains.

He sees a man across the room, tall and lean with a cruel face, he looks like the kind of man who’d want to buy him. He casts his eyes down, looks demure, wets his lips, but the man walks straight past him and picks up a younger slave. Valjean is used, he is damaged goods, bruised and scarred, there are prettier faces in the room.

Valjean swallows hard and attempts to hold back the despair. He sees a pair of men across the room, neatly but humbly dressed. One is eager and not trying to disguise it, the other is reluctant. There are men like these at every auction. They come to view the stock, gawp at the men for sale, touch and feel them, sometimes more, but they leave empty handed. This is entertainment for them. The reluctant man is being dragged along by his companion who is freely handling a man across the room. The man has scars, not as many as Valjean, but he is marked as a man who has been sent back to Toulon.

“This is fine entertainment is it not?” The man is dressed better than his companion, there is a red sash round his waist and he carries a single eye glass. The other man is taller, bigger, has softer edges, a smoother face, and there is no hiding his discomfort. “Come now Robert, you are not a moralist are you? Not an abolitionist surely?”

Robert hums something noncommittal. Valjean is staring at him, at his hands, large and smooth, he imagines them to be as gentle as Genflou, perhaps they are even gentler. He knows a man like Robert would never buy him. The two men come closer and Robert draws away from his companion. Robert is close now, close enough that Valjean might reach out and grasp his hand, might hold it and kiss it and beg to be bought. Robert looks up and Valjean stares back at him, he sees kindness behind those eyes, real kindness this time.

“Monsieur,” He says softly. “Monsieur please.”

Robert is compelled. Is it by Valjean himself or Valjean’s words, Valjean doesn’t know and he doesn’t care, all he knows is that he can’t let Robert go. Robert is starring at him, unable to speak, his eyes wander across his skin, it feels forbidden somehow. Valjean has learned not to be modest, he no longer tries to cover his nakedness from the men who come to view them, and even now he hasn’t registered the places that Robert is looking.

“Monsieur, I beg you, please, I have been disobedient they are practically giving me away.”

“Disobedient?” Robert says softly. He takes in Valjean’s bruises and the fresh lash marks. He stares at the dark bruise on his side and frowns. “You have a broken rib,” He says plainly.

“It is healed now, they tell me it is healed.”

Robert shakes his head slowly and steps forward, he raises a hand, Valjean notices that it is purposeful and not at all hesitant, and Robert touches him. His fingers are cool to the touch, if Valjean closes his eyes he might imagine that Genflou is carefully exploring his lower rib, pressing gently. He winces at the pain.

“This isn’t healed,” Robert says. He looks around as if to find someone to tell, but Valjean reaches out and grasps his arm, pulls him back.

“It doesn’t matter,” He says urgently. “Maybe you’ll get me for less.”

“Less? Less than…?” Robert shakes his head. “I can’t buy you.”

“But you can!” Valjean whispers desperately. His hands have slid down into Robert’s hand and he’s gripping tightly. “That man over there, the guard, his name’s Javert, ask him for his lowest price, it will be next to nothing I promise.”

“But I can’t buy you,” Robert says again. “I couldn’t possibly buy a man.”

“It would be saving me. You would save my life Monsieur. Please, I don’t know how else to beg.” Valjean closes his eyes and kneels. He is still holding tight to Robert’s hand, he presses it to his lips and kisses. His rib flares up in pain but he holds himself steady, gazes up at Robert and opens his eyes, tears are flowing down his cheeks and he wishes they would stop. Finally Robert nods.

“I will take you with me, you can start a new life in my town.”

“You don’t live near here?”

“No, far away.” Valjean sighs in relief and Robert almost smiles at him. “I have come to the south to visit cousins, but I don’t like it down here, not at all.”

Valjean suddenly notices Javert in his periphery. He has come over to question the disturbance.

“Is this man bothering you? I can have him whipped in front of you if so.”

Robert raises his eyebrows. “No, no no Monsieur, there is no need, I want to…I want to buy him.”

“Buy him?” Javert sneers. “Not a wise choice Monsieur, this one is less than an animal, a true beast.”

“Then he will be cheap.”

Javert is taken aback. “Well, I- well Monsieur he is the price that he deserves. But you will not want him.”

“I think I do want him.”

“No Monsieur, a mistake indeed, he is a fiend, he will bolt at the first opportunity but perhaps he will bite you first. Yes, this one has a habit of biting, don’t you Valjean? Like an animal.”

Javert reaches out to grasp Valjean by the hair and pull him to his feet. His hand slides down to his jaw and his fingers pinch and tighten, he turns Valjean’s face this way and that.

“I will buy him,” Robert says firmly.

“Buy him? No, that is not the right decision Monsieur, perhaps another man is better suited to your needs.”

Valjean is confused, but then he understands. If he isn’t sold today then he will be handed to the guards for their relief. He will be given to Javert. This must be what Javert wants, Javert wants to be Valjean’s owner. Valjean looks up into Javert’s eyes, looks at his cruel sneer. At least Javert might appreciate him. He curses himself for having such thoughts. Robert is drawing out his purse and is taking out coins. Once Valjean was traded over for notes, but now he is worth far less.

“Name your price,” Robert says firmly. “I will not take no for an answer.”

Javert is reluctant as he draws up the papers and takes the money. He informs Robert that Valjean will be inspected every quarter and that Robert should be prepared to receive a government agent. Robert gives an address in the south that Valjean can tell is false, but he says nothing. Robert’s cousin is thrilled at the purchase, he delights in tormenting Valjean on their carriage ride, but Robert warns the man not to touch Valjean. Robert invites Valjean to take a bath - “the hot water will soothe your ribs” - and Valjean is confused by all the various sponges and oils and he isn’t quite sure what to do with them. Valjean is given loose fitting clothes, but before he dresses Robert carefully bandages his rib and gently rubs his bruises with a special ointment. They spend just a night in Robert’s cousin’s house, and then they take their early leave. It is before dawn when Robert takes Valjean away from Toulon. Valjean cannot ride a horse due to the pain, so Robert tucks him into a carriage and covers him with a warm blanket before stepping up to the carriage seat and taking the reigns. Valjean thinks Robert might have kissed his forehead after he tucked the blanket round him, but he also thinks he might have imagined it.

* * *

 

Valjean curls his fingers into Robert’s. It is a warm evening and the fire roars before them on the hearth. His head rests on Robert’s shoulder and Robert is gently stroking his hair. Valjean feels safe. He feels owned, but it is a good sort of belonging, not like the contracts and whips that held him captive years ago. He has forgotten what it was like to fear Javert’s cane, to fear anonymous hands touching him, to fear the lash when he ran. He has forgotten the chains and the ropes. He has forgotten Genflou.

Sometimes these things come back to him in dreams and he wakes sweating and afraid, crying out into the darkness until Robert’s large hands wrap around him. Robert kisses his forehead and Valjean feels safe again, the visions of the past blur into nothingness, only the warmth of the arms around him matter.


End file.
